


The Past Is Your Present, The Future Is Mine

by theladyscribe



Series: Greek Verse [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No one likes to be told what their future will bring,” she answers. “And many times, when they are told, they won’t believe it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past Is Your Present, The Future Is Mine

She’s seen the future and it’s two boys in a shining black car driving the long and winding road to her house. They’re on a mission, but it’s the wrong one, and she could tell them that, but they wouldn’t believe her. They’re looking for a demon or a witch, but they’ll find neither of those here, only the future, and even that they won’t believe. She goes outside and stands on the porch to wait for them, brushing back her hair and probably smudging her face with flour from the bread she’s baking.

Sure enough, they pull up and park in the patch of hard-packed dirt lined by creek stones. It takes a moment for them get out of the car; the younger one is arguing with the older, probably saying, “Oh yeah, looks like a real evil witch to me.”

The older one gets out of the car, shutting the door a little more forcefully than necessary and looks at her. “Christo,” he says, and she smiles.

“If you are looking for demons, you are in the wrong place,” she tells him. “They don’t dare venture here.”

He blinks his green eyes, not understanding. “Why not?” he asks, suspicious.

“They are afraid of the future,” she answers, and it’s true. If anyone knew what was good for them, they would stay far away from her little house in the mountains.

“What do you mean, ‘the future’?” It’s the younger one who asks this time, and she turns a sad smile toward him.

“You know what I mean, Sam Winchester,” she says. Her eyes slide to the elder. “As do you, Dean.”

Sam asks, “Who are you?” at the same moment Dean says, “How do you know our names?”

She answers, “I am Cassandra Sybil.” She glances at Dean, whose jaw has tightened almost imperceptibly. She takes a breath and then says, “Why don’t you come inside? I have fresh bread baking and cider to drink, but no one to share it with.” She opens the screen door and steps inside, not bothering to see if they will follow.

* 

He glances around nervously at this woman’s home. She definitely does not seem possessed, and she did pass the Christo test, but he still does not quite trust her. Sam does though, and it makes him even more nervous that his brother is pressing her for answers.

“You say that demons are afraid of the future,” Sam says, leaning toward her over the kitchen table. “What do you mean by that?”

She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly, and Dean has the sudden impression that she is much older than her seeming twenty-something years. “No one likes to be told what their future will bring,” she answers. “And many times, when they are told, they won’t believe it.”

“Are you saying you can see the future?” Dean asks her.

She turns her golden eyes on him, and he imagines that she sees everything inside him. “I see many things,” she says, “and yes, the future is one of them.”

“Can you tell us about it?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers, “but you will not believe me.”

“Try us.”

She sighs and stands, going back to the oven to check the bread. She pulls it out and sets it on the counter to cool. The smell slowly fills the room, warm and moist, and Dean is sent back to a time when he was much younger and his mother baked bread on Saturday mornings and always gave him the first slice.

“You face great danger,” she says at last, her back to them as she slices the bread. “It will come from without. It will come from within. You cannot stop the cycle, but you can slow it down. It’s never too late to step back and rest, to let someone else drive, to visit the Grand Canyon, as long as you keep moving. You stop, and they will find you.” She turns back to them, three plates in her hands. She hands the heel to Dean. “You will have each other,” she tells them, “and that might be enough.”

Dean and Sam both eat in silence for a while, savoring the taste of the fresh bread and the cool cider. Finally, Dean speaks again. “So, Cassie,” he begins around a mouthful of half-chewed bread.

“Cassandra,” she says, “never Cassie.”

He nods once. “Cassandra, you know they say you’re a witch?”

She smiles again, and again Dean gets the impression that she is much older than she seems. “They always say I am a witch. Or a siren. Or a succubus.” She pauses for a moment. “Of course, I am none of those things.”

“Then what are you?” Dean asks, more to himself than to her.

“I don’t have the answer to that.”

*

They stay with her longer than she expects. She thought they would come and ask her a few questions and then leave. She should have known they would stay for a few days, but sometimes even she stops believing in her own abilities. The younger one, Sam, asks her more questions about her abilities; she answers them as much as she can, but even after all these years she still does not understand everything about them. Dean stands back in the shadows, always watching to see if she has any hidden secrets. He misses the most obvious one entirely.

One day, in the midst of Sam’s questions, Dean pipes up and says, “Who named you ‘Cassandra’ anyhow?”

He has asked the right question. “Apollo,” she answers, a smile on her face as she remembers.

“Apollo,” he repeats, more a grunt than an actual word. “Right.”

She sighs; of course he does not believe her. No one ever does. She turns back to Sam and begins explaining more about her visions. “They come and go,” she tells him. “Sometimes they are perfectly clear. Other times they are more vague than shapes in the clouds. They are always true.”

*

“What will our future bring?” Dean asks the night before they leave. They are sitting on the front porch, listening to the cicadas and watching the fireflies dance.

“Death,” she tells him, her voice tinged with sadness. “Sorrow. Suffering and pain. There is hope at the end of your journey, though the path is dark. You will have each other, and that will be enough. It has to be enough.”

Dean is silent for a while, and she thinks maybe he believes her.

*

It’s been a long time since he and Sam found that psychic in the woods, but Dean still thinks about her from time to time. He’s suffered a lot since then, seen more than one good man fall. He didn’t believe her about any of it, but now he’s not so sure she was wrong. Except, maybe, for the hope part. He doesn’t see anything but death for him and for his little brother. But at least they’ll have each other, and that will be enough.


End file.
